


Of Smiles and Truths

by Medhasree



Category: Baahubali (Movies)
Genre: And the naive Kings in between?, Beginnings, Canon, Determination, F/F, Female Agency, Love, Parichay, Princesses, Queens, Sisters, Sisters-in-Law, Wordplay, before canon, introductions, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 06:38:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19043179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medhasree/pseuds/Medhasree
Summary: Sumitra, Queen Consort to-be, resolves how much worthy of her efforts is the Crown Princess of Kuntala. Both win their battles, and let their silence speak.





	Of Smiles and Truths

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Golden_Daughter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Golden_Daughter/gifts).



Sumitra knows the intricacies of court even when she was mostly kept away from it, enough to understand that her role as Queen in Kuntala is far limited as compared to that of her husband and his sister.

She knows Jayasena even when he speaks so less, enough to know that her main job would be to treat the unorganised, somewhat dysfunctional household he and his sister have managed to keep from tumbling. Sumitra knows, and it is this knowledge that satisfies her on afternoons like this, when she cannot help but think of her future. She is thankful it doesn’t appear bleak as she had supposed after the collapse of their family economy. Gratitude isn't an emotion she feels for the added duties, but it is better than her desolate imagination.

The King is pleasant enough. He listens to her when she says their rooms need more colour, their furniture need relocation, their... their palace needs to be home. He listens to her when she says Kuntala could do to expand on tourism. They can renovate the old structures, polish them up, decorate and reinvent the temples at the outskirts.

No. It is not the King Sumitra worries about. It is his sister the Crown Princess. They haven’t spoken yet, even though the wedding stands only a few days later. And she’s just behind her.

 

***

 

Sumitra first saw the Crown Princess from afar, at the Crowning Ceremony. It was a private affair, with only Kuntalan swords and smiles.

(Of course, invitations were sent to the well-disposed kingdoms, the likes of Mahishmati, Saurashtra and Suhma. The monarchies satisfied themselves with gifts from and to Kuntala, and words of felicitations.)

It’s a happy day, she remembers her father muttering in her ear. She couldn’t see what was so happy about a bare teenaged boy, no more older than her, with not even a smattering of hair on his small face, sitting on the throne. Her father spoke of the erstwhile Queen’s presence filling the marble throne and the whole of the court. King Jayasena was nothing of that sort.

Child Sumitra’s attention had, instead, remained upon the boy - King’s - little sister. She, the girl Devasena, had stood by the throne the entire day, and no muscle had twitched in her fair face even as she was announced the Crown Princess, by natural law of succession. She had spoken to none, except curt nods and stiff smiles – made it clear that she weren’t to adjust to faux displays of civility. How old might she have been? Ten-something? Only much later, as the Princess she watched from afar developed into her female frame, did Sumitra realise how younger she was than she looked.

 

***

 

She knew then, that happy day, that the Princess would pose a problem to Kuntala’s peace. Sumitra, growing up with many older brothers and cousins - all scattered now in and by their own lives, unwilling to pay for their father's, their uncle’s disgrace - with only one younger sibling she could call her own, knew enough of words and bodies to understand how they could be construed in minds different. She wasn’t convinced of the Princess’s usefulness until she downed the second mob of bandits. She wasn’t convinced of the Princess’s prowess until she displayed excellence in the most subtle of arts at the annual fair hosted by the royal family in association with the traders’ guild that has not much work in agrarian Kuntala. She wasn’t convinced of the Princess’s grace until she worked through the hearts of the subjects devoted to her mother the quondam Queen.

She will not be convinced of the Princess’s desire for peace until the girl proves worthy. It is the nature of hierarchy, that those in power will always have to prove themselves, over and over again.

But all good women need a reason to be good. Start with a smile, her mother always advised, and will it to linger on your face so that it lingers in their hearts.

‘Yuvarani, welcome.’ She looks at her Madhava, his calm smile inducing one in her, and turns with the plate of offerings in her hand.

The Crown Princess shows no hint of surprise and steps forward with ease. Her gaze flickers to Madhava, and with a smile her hand goes to a choice sweet. She pops it in her mouth and touches her hand to her hair, eyes going for a while to the bowl of kheer. Hm.

She hunts for a word of goodwill for the Princess, notes how lovely her fairness looks in this hue of pink. Wisely, she keeps the instinctual compliment off her mouth. Devasena is their Crown Princess and her sister-in-law-to-be. She will prefer words of greater wisdom than her choice of clothing. Perhaps later. She hopes so, at least.

It is with a surprise that she finds Devasena initiating a conversation, a small smile on her face. ‘Thank you, for your help in the negotiations of the share in the waters of Chakshusvati.’

Before Sumitra can find any pleasure at the fair praise and return it manifold, she stiffens. Dizziness overcomes her better senses for an instant. The visceral parts of her churn in ignominy.

Crown Princess Devasena is the pride of Kuntala in more ways than one. She does not indulge in politesse of those who don’t deserve it. Similarly, curiously, but as a rule of thumb, she extends no thanks or apologies to even those who do deserve it.

Devasena’s eyes, serene as ever, remains fixed on her her body, her hands, her face.

Sumitra has ever been the mistress of all conversations, even inglorious gossip, and always emerged the victor, not by the cut of her words, but their caress. And now, this Devasena, years younger, comes along and renders Sumitra capable of only being reactive.

Sumitra has always practised her mother’s grace, and there’s only grace, no defeat, in accepting others’ triumphs. It smarts, yet makes her admire the Crown Princess, famously unsocial among nobles, all the more. But she is, all the same, far from convinced. 

Her skin feels hot when Devasena continues in the same vein, ‘As also, for your advice on the comfort of travellers and the expansion of touristry. We can improvise on that.’

Sumitra knows an opportunity when she sees one. She isn’t sure, a first in her considerable life, of what to say. Devasena, in the straightforwardness she has always associated her with (and perhaps, that’s what made the socially tactless girl better her), broached the conversation in a way she would have avoided. Confrontations are for the battlefield, not the hearth. This is a place for smiles and warm eyes. Sumitra would have stuck with talks of pastel shades and mango groves if it were up to her. But it wasn’t. And not for the first time. And in such times, especially faced by one such as Devasena, perhaps honesty is a policy more adept to endear than diplomacy. The Crown Princess speaks of improvisation; yes, perhaps that's what they need.

‘You demean me, Yuvarani,’ Sumitra says mildly, with a smile. ‘Forgive me if I have failed to make my place in your heart, since you consider me even farther away than a foreign trader paving a pathway for Kuntala’s grapes.’

Devasena stiffens, eyes widening just a bit. She gazes at Sumitra, gaze bereft of the former calmness, a storm raging now, contained.

The Crown Princess doesn’t mince her words, sugar them, or twist them now in a subtle sarcasm Sumitra has never known existed in her. She considers it a step in the right direction when honesty sits between them, honesty that Devasena favours over all. ‘Why do you wish to be with my brother?’

Sumitra considers that, slightly confused. Was she wrong in her assessment of the girl? ‘Is that the question you intend? Or do you want to know why I wish to be Queen Consort?’

Devasena waves her hand dismissively. ‘You have no desire to be Queen.’ Her eyes fix on Sumitra. ‘I have watched you.’ As you have me, she left unsaid. ‘But you do wish to be with my brother.’

I don’t. But some things are better left unsaid, as the younger woman demonstrated. ‘Have seen my brother?’

Devasena frowns, flummoxed. ‘I think not-‘ then flushing, she amended, ‘perhaps I didn’t notice.’ She goes to speak more, then hesitates, pursing her lips. 

_You still have much to learn, Yuvarani. But, will you?_

‘You are here for your brother,’ Sumitra allows, with a gentle nod, a (hopefully) warm smile. ‘I can understand that. He is a good man, your brother. Proper conduct, pleasant demeanour, with all the appearances of a still, respectful mind.’

Devasena peruses her, eyes narrowed. Her lips quirk. ‘A mind more suited for official works. Leaving gaps you might fulfil.’

‘If you allow me, then yes, Yuvarani. In the end, you stand for your brother, and I for mine. It didn’t necessarily have to be this way, but I am here. Kuntala is a country,’ she levels her voice carefully, going for the pharynx, ‘ruled by orphans, Raajkumari.’

Shoulders squaring, Devasena’s eyes flash at her, but there is curiosity behind them. Her fists have clenched, but the grip is loose, more instinct than intent.

‘There can be strength in numbers,’ Sumitra offers, with a more honest smile.

 

***

 

The Crown Princess stays.

They decorate the room for the evening puja, weaving garlands and lighting lamps. Their ladies-in-waiting don’t interrupt, but the buzz from outside the doors tell them how expeditiously news has spread of a now-guaranteed happy future.

Sumitra and Devasena work together, coordinating through gestures and looks, almost in an agreed vow of silence.

It is only after the Krishna puja, while clearing the room for the morning, having evicted the other women, that they break their silence.

It is again Devasena, who seems to like having the last word; only, Sumitra decides to remember this as the first, spoken in a soft tone, not by the Crown Princess of Kuntala, but her sister-in-law.

‘Thank you, for making this palace a home.’

She doesn’t hear more, and by the time she turns, Devasena is gone as silently as she had entered in the afternoon. She looks at her Muralidhar; his lips appear to be more curved against his flute. Sumitra grins at him, her heart lighter for the first time in two months.

Home is where the heart is, and with Devasena, Sumitra has found, the truth comes easier. It's not yet home, she’s sure Devasena knows this as well – but she will try. She knows her sister will too.


End file.
